


Unapologetic Apathy

by fitzghostie



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:31:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzghostie/pseuds/fitzghostie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero has a death wish, he merely has to wait until the right moment to make his dream a reality. The days leading up to the grand finale, however, don't exactly go to plan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Undeserving Of Your Sympathy

*Frank's POV* 

"Right, yep. Seriously, just whatever, okay? Just, go away or something." I sighed and sank deeper into my spindly and much-graphitised chair. My Maths teacher, Mr Walker or Stalker or whichever huffed exasperatedly and whirled around, throwing his hands up in the air and letting the scribbled on and ripped up homework flutter sadly to the floor. As he strode angrily back towards the front of the room I pushed myself upright and leaned over the desk, shoving my books and pencils aside and flipping him off, my face contorted in the ugliest expression I could pull. I settled back in my seat when Stalker reached the board, turning to face the rest of the class and glaring accusingly at me. I blatantly rolled my eyes and grabbed a permanent marker from the small scattered pile of stationary before me, pressing the nib to the pale dry skin of my hand. 

I often drew on myself when I didn't pay attention in class, meaning I was constantly covered in the ink I couldn't afford at the tattoo parlour. I drew skulls and elegantly styled words as a distraction from the insufferable babble surrounding me, selfish and puny humans who believed that in eighty years time when they were still and cold in their graves, someone could be bothered to remember them. The felt-tip glided smoothly over the bumps and ridges of my knuckles, emitting an overpowering and slightly nauseating odour. 

Time droned, a low incessant buzzing in the mind, and grey shrouds encroached the edges of my vision. All too soon the emptiness had resettled within me after my brief outburst of feeling, resulting in a never ending boredom that stretched and warped like a nightmare, my blank gaze directed at thin air and space. For the rest of the day I remained oblivious to the pushing, shoving and screaming, the smacking of gum and the hurling of insults, sweat and phony personalities and the lingering aura of hopelessness that made up the entirety of the teenage population. 

Well, maybe the hopelessness part was just me. 

The final bell screeched, and I was jerked from my daze abruptly when my desk was crashed into, tilted over and smacked to the ground with an ear-splitting bang. My work books ripped open and scattered all over the filthy floor. 

"Well, shit man," I muttered in the direction of the perpetrator. "Come on, I've got a date with a chair and some rope waiting on me, or maybe a really tall bridge." I heaved myself tiredly to my feet. The boy? Yep, boy, stopped and stared at me in shock. I shrugged and stepped around him, beginning to pick up my loose and torn papers. 

"W-wait, what did you say?" He stuttered, still gazing at me with wide eyes. 

"Nah, s'okay," His tensed shoulders relaxed a bit. "I was actually thinking too many prescription pills, but ya know..." I trailed off, still searching for the missing pages to my Maths book, not even paying attention to the horrified student behind me. 

"Dude, that's not funny!" He exclaimed, waving his arms about in agitation. I gave up my search and grudgingly focused my attention on the flabbergasted boy currently glaring at me. 

"I'm not joking, you're not laughing. Now, if you'll excuse me." I snatched up my bag, and left the room without a backward glance. "I'm so done with this shit."


	2. Cause There Is not No Way

*Gerard's POV* 

Canned laughter floated through the living room obnoxiously, mixing the cacophony of sounds from the old television set with the generous bustle and clatter effusing from the glowing kitchen. My worn converse quietly shuffled across the clean frayed carpet in the hallway, trying to avoid attention. I hurriedly took to the stairs, kicking away the dirt that had gathered in the corners and dust balls successfully escaping the notice of my mother. Catching my foot on the top step I staggered clumsily in the general direction of my brother's bedroom, and promptly collided head on with his door-frame. 

"Well, fuck." I muttered, breathing heavily and clutching my throbbing forehead. 

"You got that right." The door creaked open and a pair of white, thick-rimmed glasses poked out, perched precariously upon a long thin nose. "You okay?" Mikey grinned at me in a condescending amusement. 

"Yeah, yeah." I mumbled, my face tinged pink in slight embarrassment. There was a pause while Mikey waited and I stood awkwardly before him, massaging my aching head. 

Mikey shifted from foot to foot. "Did you, like, want something?" He peered at me from under his fringe, tilting his head back to watch me through his somewhat dirty lenses. 

"Er, what? Oh, ah yeah, I did actually. You know that kid in my class, the one with that kind of fake Mohawk thing? And all the piercings?" 

Mikey's expression changed instantly, from politely curious to devilish in a second. 

"Ooh, Frank Iero, eh? Gerard's got a boyfriend! Gerard's got a boyfriend!" He yelled in a high-pitched, singsong voice. 

"N-no, I do not! And you're one to talk! Said hello to Pete recently?" He immediately shut up. "Exactly." I stated smugly, smirking. "Anyway, I'm just worried about him, is all. He didn't seem okay." 

"Yeah, well, alright. Just be careful. He looks like bad news." Mikey warned, still a bright shade of red due to my comment about Pete. 

"Yep, will do." 

As made my way down the steps to my basement bedroom, all I could think about was the kid from class, Frank Iero. Was he serious with what he actually said? I couldn't really tell. There was something about his eyes though, that I had not seen before. On the outside he looked normal, well, as normal as you can when dressed as a teenage punk with what I assume are underage piercings and tattoos. But his eyes were strange. Empty. Yes, I liked that. His eyes were empty. No emotion. I needed to help this kid, even though I knew next to nothing about him. Not his age or where he lived, what he was like, hobbies, or anything. I was going to find out, I just hoped he'd survive the night to come to school tomorrow.


	3. I'm Sorry For What I Did

*Frank's POV* 

I was a wreck. With a grand total of no sleep at all last night, I had spent the dark hours alone on my bed staring at the long sharp knife nestling amongst my grey sheets. Unblinking and my eyes unfocused I waited for the courage to just pick up the damn blade. This was not the first time I had done this, nor the last. 

As dull daylight gradually seeped though my shuttered window I sighed heavily, finally shifting. Reaching forward slowly and coming in contact with the knife handle, I let out a grunt when my spine popped out of the position it had occupied the entire night. I stretched painfully, almost falling off the bed, and glanced out of habit toward the drapes over the mirror in the corner. I huffed, scouring the wooden floorboards below me in search of my dirty socks from yesterday and taking quick note of my thighs. Thin pale scars laced over my skin, a neat lattice of raised ridges formed from my flesh. I hadn't used a razor for a while now, having lost all motivation to do anything at all. Cutting used to be my way of feeling alive, until it no longer worked. Now all I have is a sardonic, twisted sense of humour and an unheathy dose of self loathing for company. I guess I'm alive then. Yay me. 

I slumped backwards to my bed after suddenly losing all my energy. Staring blankly at the dim shroud of my ceiling, the only sound throughout the house came from the slight click of the automatic heater switching off. The silence stretched, and somehow the lack of noise became deafening. More and more sunlight dribbled through the shutters, forcing me to close my eyes as they smarted and stung. I remained lying listlessly sideways across my filthy crumpled sheets for at least another hour, slowly drawing and expelling oxygen from my lungs, hating life, hating that I couldn't just hold my breath, that I couldn't just die. 

My mind drifted, past the grey clouding my consciousness as I remembered a face. Since I couldn't even remember what I had for dinner last night (if I even ate) I wasn't able to place it. The face belonged to a boy the same age as me if not slightly older, an interesting face. An uncommon (though admittedly attractive) shape, accompanied with a sharp jawline surrounded by an inky black mess of too long hair. Obviously dyed, but nonetheless creating a decidedly moody persona. Nothing about this boy was nondescript, from his intense hazel-honey peepers, to his delicate pixie nose. 

Without noticing I had hauled my exhausted body into a sitting position in my quest through memory. I remember he seemed to be... shocked? Yes, he appeared unsettled. I felt a small frown crease my forehead as I lost myself in thought. Something happened yesterday-

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING! BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRING! BRR- 

I shrieked to high heaven and launched myself off the bed, landing on the hardwood boards of the floor in a ungainly heap, adrenalin pumping and my sight blurring in fear and shock. I let out another unmanly yelp when a solid box like object walloped me over the back of the head and crashed in a bundle of loose wires and warped plastic, the ghastly screeching ceasing altogether. 

"Shit." I muttered dejectedly, realizing the object was indeed my alarm clock. I flopped into the dark recesses of 'under the bed land', still tangled in my blankets and breathing heavily. I can't go back to school, anywhere but back to hell on earth. I was failing everything ever invented, and I hardly had my parents around to help. My dad was dead, died ages ago so I never knew him, and I didn't even know where my mum was. But I had no social workers banging on my door, my school fees were paid for and I had 100 dollars in my bank account once a week, so I learnt not to question it. It was lonely though. 

"Fuck it, m'not moving." I glanced around the claustrophobic, shadowed space I had rolled into, and spotted a small cardboard box covered in dust hidden in the corner. "Oh yeah." I grumbled, reaching over and snagging the forgotten packet of cigarettes. I shuffled sideways slightly and grabbing the foot of my bedside dresser. I tugged, and my lighter and chewing gum that resided upon the vanity tumbled to ground beside me. Snatching up the lighter I ignited the end of a ciggarette and took a deep, luxurious drag. 

Then the fucking doorbell rang.


	4. And Through It All

*Gerard's POV* 

He wasn't here. Frank Iero didn't show. And that made me really worried.

Standing immobile in a sea of rushing faces I feverishly scanned the halls, a heavy feeling in my gut. All the thoughts spinning through my head ended in what ifs. The final bell rang, and most of the students wafting about headed to class, leaving me loitering around my locker hopelessly.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” I muttered desperately, with part of my brain wondering absently why I was so anxious about this kid. Deciding to ignore that pesky section of my mind I set off in search for the main office. The middle aged lady behind the desk in the front office didn't bother looking up as I approached, her attention captivated by her humming monitor casting a sickly glow against her skin. I cleared my throat loudly. 

“Mmm, Yes?” She murmured after tearing her eyes off the screen and assuming a bored professional look. 

“Oh, umm…” I stalled, suddenly aware that I had no reason to be asking for a random students house address. “Yeah, I, ah, I wanted to know, um-”

The woman just stared at me as I tried to think of a viable excuse. I ground my teeth and leaned against the bench separating me from- I glanced at the plaque by the desk ladies elbow- Kathy Todd. “See, the thing is, my mother made some deal with a friend of hers whose kid goes to this school, and she said that I would give the guy a lift, but I wasn't really listening and I didn't catch the address. Can you tell me where Frank Iero lives?” Kathy continued to eye me dubiously for a further ten seconds while I shifted from foot to foot, highly uncomfortable with this whole situation and disguising that fact rather poorly. 

Finally, after a stretch of time where I avoided eye contact and tried (and failed) to whistle a jaunty tune, she sighed irritably and typed Frank's name into the school server, muttering to herself. "Right, yep, the Iero residents. 225 Adelaide St, near the centre of town. You know it?" She glared up at me. 

"Yeah, I live the next street over. Thanks." I nodded to her while sidestepping over to the door. I don't actually have a car to give anyone a lift in, that part was total bullshit, but it also means that I now have to walk to Frank's place. School had started, and I wasn't sure whether he'd be home or if his parents were home or if he'd even let me in his damn house. Oh well. I just had to make sure the kid was okay. 

Setting a brisk pace, I flinched and hissed at the obscene amount of sunlight drenching everything in colour and shimmering off the pavement. I began walking the familiar path back to my house but turned off one street early, crossing the road to get to the odd numbers. Counting down out loud to myself, I reached a two story white ensemble, complete with picturesque front lawn and picket fencing. Basically the opposite to my ramshackle and homely dwelling. Upon closer examination however, I noticed the grass was overgrown and the house really needed a fresh coat of paint. 

"Okay, there is absolutely no reason to panic, none at all. You're just gonna turn up to a mysterious, attractive, suicidal boy's house and ask if he's alright.” My voice was strained and tight. Then a thought occurred to me. “OH SHIT, WHAT IF HE'S DEAD?!” I rushed forward in a sudden panic; nearly tripping and cracking my head open on the porch step, and pounded frantically on the door. When no one answered for a good two minutes I was left glanced wildly around. 

Then I noticed the fucking doorbell.


	5. How Could You Cry For Me

*Frank's POV* 

“If it's a fucking knick knocker, I swear to god…” I growled under my breath as I stalked down the hall to the front door. The unknown person on the porch outside was apparently intent on battering their way in, probably to murder me or something. Not that I'm complaining. I already looked like death animated and I reeked of cigarettes, though I did have the decency to pull on a pair of foul, old, ripped up jeans. I gripped the tarnished brass door handle and jerked it toward me, an unbecoming scowl gracing my features. The unidentified disturbance hesitated with the next strike, and I realized that it was the face I had envisioned earlier. I stared in shock, my mouth falling open as my memory finally returned. This was the guy I scared yesterday afternoon when he knocked my desk over; when I had some rant on different suicide methods I was going to attempt. 

I stood there floundering for something to say, and he just looked at me in relief, breathing heavily with a small smile curling the side of his mouth. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” I managed after some time spent gaping in bewilderment. The boy's expression immediately changed to one of chagrin, shuffling uneasily from one foot to another whilst blushing profusely. 

“I, ah, you worried me yesterday, and I had to know that you were okay.” He muttered, very interested in his ratty, permanent marker covered converse. Switching his gaze from his feet to my face, he took in my shirtless state and blushed even harder, before frowning and moving a little closer to me. “Frank…” he murmured, “Frank, why the hell are you so skinny? I can see like, all your ribs.” I took a step backwards as he came closer, and looked down at myself. Oh. Skin and bone. 

His concern only seemed to intensify when I didn't reply, instead I started backing up further and began to shut the door.The boy stepped forward hastily, wedging his foot between the threshold and the rapidly encroaching wooden slab. “Frank! Frank, wait.” He puffed, trying to shove his way inside. 

“Dude, I don't even know you!” Pausing, I exclaimed in slight exasperation, “How do you even know my name? Or where I live?” I defended the entrance when he advanced again. 

“Okay, okay, just listen. I'll tell you everything if you just let me help you.” He pleaded, shooting me a despairing face. 

“I don't need help.” I deadpanned, avoiding his scrutiny. He snorted, and utilized my momentary lapse in concentration to force his way inside. 

“Yep, you do.” Shutting the door softly behind him, he turned to me grinning. “Gerard Way.” He held out his hand jovially and I just stared in confusion. What the hell was happening and who still shook hands anyway? The strange boy, Gerard, sighed and retracted his hand, running it instead through his overly long tresses in a habitual gesture that suggested he'd been doing so most of his life. Upon further inspection of him, I surmised that an essential part of his overall makeup consisted of bitten lips and smudged eyes, combined with his delicately curved figure and pronounced cheekbones, created an alluring and gorgeous image. Shaking myself out of my daze and back to reality with a sharp scolding, I caught the surreptitious glances Gerard was sending me himself, though his expression was more concerned than appreciative. 

“Frank, when was the last time you ate?” Gerard questioned urgently.

“I don't actually remember.” I stated in an offhand tone. Gerard visibly paled and opened his mouth to have a go. “Look, calm down, it's not like I've been doing this on purpose.” I turned on my heel and strode in the direction of the kitchen, leaving him to stutter on after me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so so much for all your comments, I can't wait to have the next chapter up


	6. Don't Feel Bad About It

*Gerard's POV* 

“Not on purpose? How can you starve yourself by accident? Why didn't you come to school?” Were the next few questions I asked when we reached the kitchen sans living room, and I looked around curiously. “Where are your parents?” I asked the last question slowly, hesitant to know the answer. 

Frank ignored me completely, instead making a beeline for the fridge, an action that in retrospect I was quite content with. 

“My parents,” He stated suddenly in a calm, almost disinterested tone, “are not around, as you can see.” He gestured wide at the empty house, seeming able to encompass its silence and nostalgia. 

“Where are they?” I whispered.

“Well, ones six foot under and I don't actually know where the other is.” He uttered the lines flippantly and casually took a sip of iced coffee from the fridge. 

“You live here alone? That’s illegal!”

Frank just stared at me blankly. This went on for about half a minute, until I started to fidget uncomfortably. Then he began to laugh. It was a strained sound, full of sharp edges. Frank’s face contorted and stretched and he bared his teeth, as if he couldn’t quite remember what a smile looked like.

“Dude, who cares? My mum can do whatever she likes.” I gaped at him. “She leaves me money.” He added defensively.

“You’re mum just leaves you here.” I stated, but Frank nodded anyway. “That is so fucked up it isn’t even funny.”

“Hey, this is my life, okay? You can’t just walk into my house and shit all over the way I live it.” Frank slammed the bottle on the kitchen counter, slopping his drink down the cabinet doors and onto the floor.

“Frank, from what I heard yesterday, it doesn’t look like you’re living at all.” I said gently. “Let me help you clean that up.” I gestured at the spilled coffee. “Where do you keep your paper towels?”

As Frank turned and started rooting about in what appeared to be an almost empty pantry, I sighed to myself. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this work before on a different website, but my account shut me out. I don't know if I'll ever finish this story, but I've promised a few people I wouldn't give up, so here goes.


End file.
